definitely maybe
by paradisdesbilles
Summary: AU. "I just want you to tell me how you fell in love with dad." "Fine." Henry's already jumping back into a sitting position, excited as a kitten with a strand of wool. "But I'm not telling you who your father is, and I'm changing all the names. I decided that just now. You'll have to guess which one he is, okay?"
1. Introduction

Written for the CS movie month on tumblr. It's all in the title, right?

* * *

"And then the man thrusts his penis into the woman's vagina and…"

"Please, Henry, stop talking." Emma takes the mail out of the box, closing it with a bit too much strength that has the doorman turning his head – yeah, like having her son loudly talking about sex didn't catch his attention before. "I will literally pay you to stop talking."

Henry freezes for a second, mouth open with whatever he was going to say next, as if evaluating the situation. He closes it then, and Emma is ready to sigh in relief. That is, until he speaks again. "But what I don't understand, Grace said she was an accident. How can you accidentally thrust your penis into…"

"Okay, stop." Putting the mail in her handbag, Emma kneels to be on the same eye-level with her son – not a conversation she wanted to have now, especially not in their building hallway of all places. "It's not the sex that was an accident. It's Grace's mother getting pregnant."

Henry seems to be thinking this through for a minute, little pensive pout on his lips, until the emotions on his face suddenly shift and Emma is surprised to see sadness where there was blatant curiosity only seconds ago. "Am I an accident?"

Emma is suddenly really glad that she lies for a living, because there's no way she could have kept a poker face otherwise – yes, definitely not a conversation she was planning to have any time soon. "No. Come on, kid, of course not. You were very much wanted." The lie rolls almost too easily on her tongue, and she makes a mental note to send a text later in case Henry wants to ask his father the same question. "Now let's go home, okay?"

.

She really expects him to drop the subject there. He obviously doesn't, cornering her in the kitchen when she's cooking, with his puppy eyes and sad pout – too effective for her own good. "I think you should tell me the story of how you and dad met."

"Why are you interested in that all of a sudden?" She keeps staring at the vegetables frying in the pan, more to hide her feelings from Henry than to make sure nothing burns.

He's never been really vocal about it, but Emma knows this is something weighing on him – how his parents are not lovers, only maintaining a semblance of friendship for their kid's well being. New York is full of divorced parents and unusual families, but Henry has always been a romantic at heart, dreaming of his parents getting back together at one point or another.

In his little mind, telling him the story would probably be enough to have something click as she realises they were always meant to be.

"I just want to know. Is it so much to ask?" He trails on the last word of each sentence to draw pity, she knows, and it could work if she wasn't even more stubborn than he is. "Look, mum, I know your story with dad isn't some kind of fairytale but I really want to know."

"And you will."

"When I'm old enough."

She taps the tip of his nose with a smile. "Exactly. Now set the table."

.

He remains silent on the subject for a grand total of one hour, bringing it back with his toothbrush in his mouth while getting ready for bed.

"But like, you met when you were eighteen…"

"_Not now_, Henry." She can hear the frustration in her own voice, the edge that shouldn't be there – she isn't the kind of mother who snaps at her kid for no reason, thank you very much – and she feels guilty for it. But her early twenties have always been a sensitive subject for her, will always be, and it is not something she wishes to discuss with Henry. Not to mention the fact his father is better at telling stories than she is, so maybe asking him would be a better option than her cynical self.

"How many boyfriends did you have when you were young?"

"None." But she feels her willpower slipping between her fingers, slowly but surely, and she sighs in defeat. "Only three serious ones, including your father."

"All at once?"

"_No_." And then, "well…"

Henry's eyes widen, and she takes that moment of weakness to push him in his bedroom until he falls face first on his bed.

"Tell meeeeee." The whine is muffled by the blankets, and she snorts lightly.

She waits until he snuggles under the covers, tucks him in carefully, then sits on the edge of his bed, caressing the locks of dark hair on his forehead.

"I just want you to tell me how you fell in love with dad."

His eyes are full of hope and dreams, and she'd feel like the worst mommy in the world if she were to crush them now. She's perfectly aware of the dangerous game she's playing, walking on the edge, but Emma has never been one to say no to her son. So she sighs and throws her arms in the air in sign of defeat.

"_Fine_." Henry's already jumping back into a sitting position, excited as a kitten with a strand of wool. "But I'm not telling you who your father is, and I'm changing all the names. I decided that just now. You'll have to guess which one he is, okay?"

"Like a detective story, only it's love instead of murder?"

Her son and his comparisons… "Yeah, you could say that."

"Nice!"

* * *

Okay so for people who've seen the movie, we roughly have Neal as the mum (obvz), Graham as Summer and Killian as April, so the story will jump between the three but (once again, if you've seen the movie or basically looked at my other fics) you know which one will be endgame.  
But the three of them will still be explored so you've been warned


	2. Chapter 1

Thank you so much for the overwhelming reactions to this fic, I really didn't expect it when posting a silly little introduction such as this one!

People have asked me about the names and, to keep it simple, the fake names in the story will be their real names on the show. Just imagine some guy named Baelfire Gold living in Storybrooke, I don't know.

This chapter is dedicated to Colin O'Donoghue's grungy teenage years. I hope you enjoy it!

* * *

"So, I was eighteen and still living in Storybrooke," Emma begins, settling more comfortably in her son's bed. She is, after all, here to stay, and glad tomorrow is a Saturday – no school, so Henry can sleep in. "I'd started dating this guy a few months before graduation… Let's call him Neal, okay?"

"Oh, no…" She raises an eyebrow at the boy's complaint. "In the stories, it's _never_ the high school sweetheart."

She rolls her eyes. "Yeah, well, it's my story so shut up and listen." She's doesn't stop when Henry sticks his tongue out at her. "Now as you know, all hell broke lose in September…"

.

**september 2001**

Emma puts the biggest suitcase they have on her bed, opening it in a careless motion before turning to face her wardrobe – all the while purposefully ignoring the boy lying on her bed. She can feel his eyes on her back, and it unnerves her more than she wants to show, because the silence between them is an illusion, and he'll break it soon enough in yet another speech she doesn't want to listen to.

She grabs handfuls of shirts and jeans, putting them in her suitcase before doing the same with her socks and underwear. Should she take a dress? Is she even planning to do something that would involve a dress? She doesn't thing so, but money will probably be tight and she doesn't want to be up against the wall if she ever needs a fancy outfit. Just in case, she packs her little black one, and one or two skirts too, for good measure.

She's trying to fit a pair of shorts in here when Neal sighs – here we go. "All I'm saying, Em, is that Storybrooke _does_ have a police department. I don't see why you couldn't do that here."

"My _dad_ runs the police department. Excuse me if I want to be more than his personal secretary. And I already told you, it's not just about being a cop…"

She doesn't have to look up to know he's rolling his eyes – the argument has been going on for days now, and will only stop by the time she boards her plane. Obviously not the way she'd expected to spend her last days in town with him but, what do you want, they're both stubborn that way.

"No. It's about being a cop in New York because apparently Emma Nolan has a death wish."

She can't help it – the folded socks hit his face in a second, and she huffs at him. If her life was a cartoon, smoke would come out of her ears right now but, sadly, she lives in the real world and settles down for glaring at him.

It's the thing about life in such a small town, Emma knows – no one ever really expects the kids to leave and have their own life, all of them taking over their parents' businesses, having kids who will follow the same pattern. They are all aware of it, accepting it without a word – all, except Emma apparently. Everyone had try to convince her the local university would be good for her, especially since she would attend it with her friends, but Emma has always been one to want more, to reach for the stars. It would be New York or nothing – it would be the NYPD, at the very least, or nothing. It had taken months for her to convince her parents after receiving her letter of acceptation for NYU.

The terrorist attack only a week before her moving to the city was, unsurprisingly, enough to start their arguments from scratch – it was also enough for Emma to be certain the world needs her to protect it.

"Just because you're okay with taking over daddy dearest's paw shop doesn't mean I'm not allowed to want more, asshole."

"I just don't see the point of going all the way to New York. You can…"

"I won't go to that crappy community college with Wendy and you! I want a place with a nice criminal law program, I want to enter the policy academy. Maybe even go to Quantico and…" She sighs, running a hand through her hair. "I want to do something that matters, okay? Not just answer the phone and buy coffee for my dad all my life. And my parents already paid for the whole year, so…"

Neal stands up then, raising his hands in surrender as he makes his way around the bed and closer to her. She eyes him warily, unsure of his next move, but his smile is warm and kind. "I know, darling. But we're scared for you, all right? Surely you can understand that."

She simply nods, snuggling against him when he opens his arms to her. They remain entangled for long minutes, until Wendy bursts into the room, arms full of towels and other toiletries. "My gosh, how many iron curlers do you own, Nolan?" and it is enough to break the tense mood, having Emma laugh out loud.

.

Emma holds back her tears through the flight to New York, trying not to think about her last goodbye to her parents, promising to call at least once a week and to go back home if the big city is too much, about Neal kissing her for the last time, swearing he'd come to visit during the next break, or the way Wendy had hugged her with a soft "I'll take care of that idiot, don't worry". It was harder than expected, cutting the cord.

The subway is a freaking maze, but at least running around with two heavy suitcases and an even heavier backpack helps forgetting about her issues – that is, until she accepts the fact she is lost. It takes her three more stations before she puts her pride aside long enough to ask for directions, and an old lady kindly explains everything to her. The sun is already setting by the time she arrives at NYU, relieved to finally have her magnetic card and the number of her room – all she wants is a hot shower and a good night of sleep.

No such luck, though, because the first thing Emma notices entering the room is the leggy brunette standing up on one of the beds as she hangs a poster to the wall. She turns her head when she hears the door and offers Emma a wolfish grin, almost beaming on the spot.

"Hey, roomie!" she says, voice way too cheerful for a first meeting, as she waves. "I'm Ruby."

"Emma," she replies carefully as she puts both her suitcases on the empty bed. Cheerful, over-the-top people have never been her thing, but she doesn't want to be _that girl_ asking to change room because she can't socialize like a normal person. So she smiles at the brunette and asks the universal question. "What are you studying?"

Turns out Ruby studies biology and environment, and Emma immediately pegs her for the kind of hippie girl who wants to change the world and save all the animals – in her case, the wolves, and did you know how few are still alive in the Alps today? But Ruby is also a nice girl and, by the time they go to the dining hall together for a late snack, Emma decides having her as her friend will not be that bad. If anything, Ruby will keep her on her toes and force her to take breaks from her studies from time to time – barely here for a day and she already seems to know everyone in their building and every party for the month to come.

Yes, Emma thinks, she could have done worse.

.

Her first day is a nightmare. She gets lost once again, even with the map the residential hall gave her, and arrives five minutes late to her first class – something the teacher notices, loudly, in front of the whole lecture hall –, gets lost again on the way back to her dorm, only to find out she left without her card this morning and has to wait a bloody half hour before another student arrives and opens the door for her. It's not midday yet and she's already done.

It's only the beginning. She's buying gums at the shop around the corner when it starts rainy like crazy – of course, she's only wearing a thin hoodie because it was warm and sunny only minutes ago, _what the hell_. Running back to her building as fast as possible doesn't stop her from being drenched, though.

"Wait! Hold the door!" she yells when she sees someone entering the dorm, and whoever it is hears her and is kind enough to actually do as she says.

Of course Emma runs faster, because it's the polite thing to do, and of course she misses the huge puddle of water right after the door, because it's simply that kind of a day. She feels herself falling backwards, unable to keep her balance, arms flapping uselessly by her sides – her ass doesn't kiss the floor, though, for her saviour wraps an arm around her waist and holds her in place. She sighs in relief.

"Graceful as a swan, milady," he says, voice heavy with his laughs and Irish accent.

"Well, what can I tell you? I'm just that –"

Her quip dies on her tongues as she looks up at him only to meet the bluest eyes she's ever seen. His whole face isn't half bad either, and she wants to roll her eyes at how cliché the guy seems to be – the handsome foreign student who's a snarky gentleman to the ladies, how original. And, finally taking a step back, she wants to scoff because the cliché doesn't stop here – plaid shirt over a t-shirt with some band logo, baggy jeans that have seen better days, long black hair falling in a mess on his forehead. If she didn't know better, she'd assume he was out of a grunge music video – the kind of guy who definitely mopes over his guitar while playing Wonderwall. _Urg_.

"I'm Killian, by the way. Killian Jones."

"Emma Nolan," she mumbles as a reply.

The name seems to ring a bell. "Ruby's roommate, right?" When she nods, already wondering what Ruby has said about her, he adds, "My room is right across the hall, 305."

_Oh, right_.

"Well, I have to check something with the reception so, erh, see you soon, I guess."

If he notices her not-so-subtle way of getting rid of him – if only not to share a lift and an awkward conversation – he doesn't point it out and only nods with a little smile. "Aye. See you, swan."

She's not quick enough to complain about the nickname.

…

"I'm pretty sure Jefferson from 117 cooks meth in his room. Or grow weed. Or both."

Emma raises her head from her book, corking an eyebrow at Ruby as she enters the room and throws her bag on the bed before dramatically plopping next to it. She stretches out her arms on the mattress as she throws a pointed look at the blonde, as if daring her to contracting her words. Emma only rolls her eyes.

"Smelling of weed doesn't make him NYU's drug lord."

"One day, he'll blow up the whole building and the joke will be on you."

With a huffed laugh, Emma stands up, slipping student card and phone in her pocket. "What about you tell me all you conspiracy theories over breakfast, huh?"

She doesn't have to ask twice, Ruby jumping on her feet in a second as she starts complaining about her early class and not having time to eat anything at seven in the morning. She wraps her arm around Emma's as they go out of the room, waving at Killian who fumbles with opening the door to his room, obviously hung-over. "So cute," she whispers in Emma's ear, "but you should see his roommate…"

Still, it doesn't take long for Ruby to go back to her first subject of conversation, listing all the reasons why she believes Jefferson to use the university as his cover for more dangerous means, several heads turning on them for subtlety has never been her forte. Emma replies with hums and two-word sentences, knowing she isn't really needed in the conversation, when her phone buzzes in her pocket. The screen reads Neal's name, a picture of him in the background, and Emma gives her friend a thin smile before leaving the dining hall not to be heard.

"Hey, babe. How are you?"

"Fine, fine. What about you? How was your first week?" There is some commotion on his end of the call, before he adds, "Wendy says hello too."

"No, I don't!" comes her voice, muffled in the background, "I'm still upset at her for abandoning us."

Emma laughs softly as she leans against the closest wall, running a hand through her hair. "I'm fine. Uni is exhausting but it's good. We're going to some kind of charity event tonight, you know, for the… Anyway, Ruby says it will be fun and…"

She's cut in the middle of her sentence by both Neal's loud, heavy, sigh and by Killian appearing out of nowhere in a fresh shirt, eyes hooded by the lack of sleep as he smirks and winks at her before entering the dining hall. She has to shake her head to focus back on her boyfriend's words.

"You're never going back, are you?"

It is a simple enough question, but Neal's tone is defeatist, as if he knows the answer to that question without needing her to say it out loud. It sounds of loss and rejection and, if only for a second, Emma feels the grasp of guilt in her stomach.

"Maybe you could join me? You'd like it here, I swear!"

"Em, we already talked about it… Listen, my class starts in five minutes. We'll talk about it later, okay?"

But she knows the subject will never be brought up again.


	3. Chapter 2

Of two things Emma is certain: one, she was right to pack her little black dress; two, they have nothing to do at that charity event. Ruby had talked about it as some kind of charity event organized by the university, to raise funds to help people after the terrorist attacks, and Emma had immediately thought about people selling cakes and stuff animals, or even auctioning on members of the football team for a date – the kind of things they do for broke students to spend money they don't have. Obviously, she was wrong.

The hall is elegantly decorated, with white roses on the tables and champagne glasses made out of crystal, people speaking to each other in hushed voices under the dim lights of the chandelier. The guests are all dressed in well-fit suits and designer dresses, none of them younger than thirty. Emma frowns at Ruby, for it is obviously a party they were _not_ invited to, one of those events made to stroke some rich men's ego in hope they will write a four-figure check by the end of the night.

Clearly, Ruby decided sneaking in would be a good idea and, if that wolfish grin of hers is any indication, she doesn't feel guilty at all about it. "Come on. Look old and clever, that will do the trick!"

Emma sighs, shaking her head, but she has to admit the whole idea has its perks when she manages to take a flute of champagne without the waiter asking for her ID. _Maybe it'll be fun_, she thinks, _if they don't catch us_.

So, for the next hour or so, the girls wander around the room with a glass of champagne in their hand, looking at the items that will be sold later on – for, much to Emma's delight, there _will_ be an auction, paintings and signed basketballs and the like. They nearly run into Ruby's biology teacher, dodging him only seconds before he sees them and laughing about if for five minutes in the bathroom afterwards. Emma may be a little tipsy on champagne, but she doesn't find her in herself to care, giggling behind her hand as she watches Ruby trying to mingle with rich bureaucrats, deep in conversation with a man who looks fresh out of business school.

"You don't belong here," a voice whispers to her ear, startling Emma with an inelegant yelp that she blames on the alcohol as she turns around to face the newcomer, hand theatrically pressed against her racing heart. Despite his accusation, the man's smile lacks arrogance or amusement at scaring her, and Emma only ready kindness in his big grey eyes.

She quickly looks him over, ruffled sandy hair and stumble, smile as kind as his eyes; he doesn't look that much older, not over twenty-five if Emma had to guess. She smirks back. "Neither do you," for he is too young to be a teacher and his jeans-waistcoat combo doesn't place him on the list of New York's rich and handsome bachelors. Although, for the handsome part…

He takes a little piece of paper from his pocket, poking it twice. "That's where you're wrong I'm afraid. I have an invite. You, on the other hand…"

Only then does she notice his rich accent, and she frowns at him slightly – what is it with NYU and hot international students, seriously? But Emma still keeps her composure, grinning at him like it's a game she doesn't want to lose. "And what tells you I am not someone's plus one? Maybe my husband is some rich old dude who's about to die, leaving all his fortune to me."

He doesn't budge. "It's a Forever 21 dress and you're a student. Right?"

She takes a sip of champagne with a quirked eyebrow and smug pout. "Not telling."

His laugh is as rich as his voice, shaking his head at her antics, and Emma can only hides her smile behind the glass of champagne. This whole conversation is ridiculous, but at least he doesn't look about to throw her and Ruby out by calling the security. Instead, he offers his hand for her to check. "I'm Graham, nice to meet you."

"Emma. And technically it's an H&M dress, so…" She adds a small yet defiant tilt of the head, even as she is perfectly aware she is talking nonsense, and probably making a fool of herself in front of a total stranger – but the chances of meeting him again are negligible, so what the hell.

His lips curl into a smile, and he's probably about to respond something equally nonsensical, when a perfectly manicured hand grabs his arm, startling them both out of their conversation. Emma's eyes travel from the women's red nails to her angular face, framed by short jet-black hair, red lips turned predatory smirk as her eyes fall on Graham. Emma can only blink in surprise at that surprising arrival.

"Graham, dear," she says, her voice a curt whisper. "The Section Chief of the FBI is here, I want you to meet him."

His eyes jump from the woman to Emma a couple of time before he mirrors her smirk. "I'll be here in a minute, all right?"

She nods and leaves, making a scene of walking between him and Emma, hand trailing on his chest as she does so – good way to stake a claim, especially with the whole 'ignore the other woman' business. Emma refrains from rolling her eyes, before looking at the woman again, frowning.

"Wait. Was that…?" she asks, pointing at the brunette with her thumb.

"Regina Mills, yes."

"And you two are…"

"She's my thesis advisor. But yes, we also…"

He imitates the way she dwelled on the last, unsaid, word, effectively having her rolling her eyes. Professor Mills is well known among law students, as she runs the department with an iron grip and barely ever has contact with the crown of commoners – otherwise known as students. For Graham to have her as his thesis advisor… Well, Emma is certain he must be skilled on many levels.

Still, she scoffs and grins. "_Well done_."

Perhaps he hears the sarcasm, barely hidden, in her voice, for he raises an eyebrow at her. "Got a problem with that?"

"No, of course not, look at you." She scoffs again, more panicking that amused this time. "You're handsome. You're obviously smart. To please a man like you, it would need…"

"A really woman," he finishes with her with a smirk that's more gently mocking than arrogant.

"_Exactly_." She knows herself to be talking nonsense, the alcohol in her blood not helping, but yet the words tumble out of her mouth whether she likes it or not. "Hard to compete with that."

"Unless you like competition, of course."

She opens her mouth, surprised and at a lose for words for a second or two, but their conversation is cut short yet again, more abruptly this time as Ruby swoops on her with wide panicking eyes. "I've been spotted. We need to go."

"Okay." And then, turning back to Graham, "Sorry. It was nice meeting you."

She barely registers his 'you too' as Ruby is already pulling her to the entrance hall and then cloakroom. Emma stumbles once or twice, the high heels she is wearing not helping, but Ruby's hand grips her tighter every time and it has her wondering if the brunette only came face to face with one of her teacher or did something entirely worse – knowing her, the latter wouldn't be all that surprising.

Ruby almost tears her coat from the pageboy and flees the scene – gosh what did she _do_? – but Emma stays in the hallway as she slips on her own coat. It's only September, but it's late and chilly and there is no way she's going out only wearing that thin dress. She jumps (once again) when someone grabs her by the shoulder, and isn't all that surprised to find Graham standing here.

"Will I see you again?" he asks, almost shyly.

She wants to say yes, because they're apparently studying in the same department so the chances of bumping into each other in the hallways are high. She also wants to say yes, because his eyes are kind and his smile gentle, because there are not so many people out there she feels like trusting in a heartbeat and they definitely have some kind of connection – and that's why she has to say no, she can't take the risk, not with him, not with anyone. "I don't think so."

"Okay." He nods, looks above his shoulder then back at her, and repeats, "Okay."

And then his hands cup her face, delicately, leaving her the choice to back away – she should, but something has her staying still, even knowing what he is about to do, what is about to happen. Graham's lips are tentative at first, but her hand comes to grab his waistcoat and he deepens the kiss even if it stays soft. One of his hand travels to her neck, her hair, as he reduces the distance between them, head tilt to the right angle, lips pressed harder against hers, warm and gentle.

The kiss ends as softly as it begun, leaving her speechless, eyes closed for a few more seconds before a smile appears on her face. "It was nice meeting you too," he whispers as he goes back to the gala with one more glance at her over his shoulder, one more smile.

On the way back to their dorm, Emma presses her fingers to her lips and, if Ruby notices, she doesn't point it out.

…

"So what are you going to do?"

Killian barely waits for her answer before he climbs on a chair and starts fidgeting with the tv – it's been a week of no cable in the common room, and he volunteered to look into it because, fuck off, they'll watch their shows whether the university likes it or not. He barely spares her a glance as he asks the question, and she leans against a wall with a sigh.

"I'm in a relationship, moron. There is nothing to do from this point."

"Oh yeah. _Neal_." She rolls her eyes at his sarcasm, not in the mood. "If you ask me, monogamy is so overrated."

"Good thing I'm not asking you."

"All I'm saying is that the three of you could have fun together. Or even four of you, maybe cougar Mills is into that kinky stuff."

"_What's a cougar?_"

Emma looks up to Henry, eyes widening in frightened surprise, because _of course_ her son would focus on such a small detail – _of course_ she had to say such things in front of him, forgetting for a second there that she is talking to a child. She shakes her head at her own stupidity.

"It's – that's – it's not important to the story, okay?"

Henry only shrugs, "Whatever."

…

**october 2001**

She opens the door to Killian leaning against the doorframe like he belongs here, smirking at her from the moment their eyes meet, and for a second there all she wants is to close the door to his stupid face and hide under a blanket because there is no way this night out is going to end well for her.

"Fancy meeting you here, swan."

"This nickname has to die like, a month ago."

His smirk only grows bigger. Bastard. "Come on, it suits you. Graceful little thing that you are."

Yup, that's it, she's done for the night. But, as if privy of her thoughts, Killian pulls her outside of her dorm and closes the door behind her, never getting rid of his trademark grin. She tries complaining, struggling, even kicking him in the shin, but his only reply is to threaten her that he will have no qualm carrying her over his shoulder if she doesn't cooperate. She pouts all the way to the bar in protest, but Killian doesn't seem to care.

Emma has no idea who decided that a karaoke night for her birthday would be a great idea, but she is fairly certain it is not her – a good movie and some Chinese take-out would have been more than enough, thank you very much. Her money is on Victor, Killian's roommate, because that kind of stuff screams his name, but it could also be Ruby – thought Emma wouldn't be surprised if they teamed up to prepare the outing, those two have been joined at the hip for the past two weeks.

A hand on the small of her back, Killian pushes her towards the table where their friends are seated – Ruby and Victor, Mary-Margaret and David, even August who goes to the gym with her – as he says something about buying the first round and makes his way to the bar counter by the other side of the room. Tink arrives shortly after – Emma is yet to learn the petite blonde's real name for everyone likes to use her nickname instead – and goes to help Killian with the beers. That's a lot of people around such a small table, and conversations grow louder and messy within a couple of minutes, but Emma has to admit it is nice. A nice way of celebrating her birthday, that's for sure.

The karaoke begins an hour or so and two beers later and, before she knows it, Killian drags her to the stage – she's laughing too much, too freely, to really complain when he puts a mic in her hand, actually laughs even louder when she recognizes the first notes of piano.

"Just a small town girl, livin' in a lonely world. She took the midnight train goin' anywhere…"

She rolls her eyes, almost annoyed, because of course the guy can sing, his voice even softer and richer with the lyrics, eyes sparkling when he looks at her – the glim of a challenge obviously here. She isn't as good as he is, only singing in the shower from time to time, but she'd be damn to let him win this round.

"Just a city boy, born and raised in South Detroit. He took the midnight train goin' anywhere."

His eyes widen in surprise, if only for a second, so maybe she doesn't sound that bad after all. Not that it matters, not that she cares. Karaoke is made for bad singers, after all. And to have fun, something that is happening right now, staring at each other as they sing, stupid grins and ridiculous dance moves which culminate into air guitar during the bridge. Emma vaguely registers some people cheering them, too busy with the lyrics and jumping up and down in rhythm to care, her eyes never leaving Killian's – noses almost brushing from how close they are during the chorus.

So okay, maybe the last note isn't in tune, more high-pitched than it should be, but it doesn't stop people from applauding – Ruby even whistles, thumb and index finger in her mouth. Killian bow with a flourish of the hand, and Emma follows suit, pretending to hold an invisible skirt as she does so. His arm snakes around her waist, pulling her to his chest as he kisses her temple with a laugh, whispering a 'happy birthday' to her ear.

(She sings _Wannabe_ with Ruby and Tink, laughs at David and Mary-Margaret's rendition of _You're the one that I want_, and pretends to swoon when a very drunk Killian dedicates _Piano Man_ to her. They all drink too much and skip class the next day to nurse their hangover and watch cartoons together in the common room.

All in all, this is one of the best birthdays Emma ever had.)


	4. Chapter 3

Preamble: I know nothing about cigarette, especially the price of cigarettes in NYC in 2001. So roll with me on that one.

Some of the lines are directly from the movie, which I try to avoid as much as possible but... yeah. Here we are.

* * *

**december 2001**

"Come on! Stupid machine!"

She hits the side of the computer as softly as possible, if only not to be told off by the cybercafé's owner – if she had her way with it, Emma would have already punched the damn machine minutes ago. Of course the computers from the library don't have webcams and of course she has to pay to use one here and of freaking course the damn thing won't do what she wants no matter what. _Of freaking course_. Mary Margaret, sitting next to her, squeezes her arm in what is supposed to be a reassuring manner, but it does nothing to calm her nerves because the brunette's computer works perfectly, letting her write her essay with no problem whatsoever, and Emma just wants to scream in frustration.

She enters her e-mail address and password once again, and prays to any deity that the thing will work this time as she watches the two little green figures turning and turning until – finally! – MSN Messenger decides to work.

"Thanks the lord," she mumbles as she double-clicks on Neal's pseudo and then on the webcam icon, adjusting her headset with a sigh.

She hadn't realised she missed seeing Neal's face until it appears on the screen, the image jumping and blurry as he smiles at her with a little wave. She sighs again, in relief this time, because she hasn't seen him in three months, the longest they've been apart, and she missed him. Floppy hair and chocolate eyes, he's definitely a sigh for sore eyes.

"Hey babe," she greets him, trying not to be too loud, even with people chatting around her and teenage boys almost screaming in their mikes as they play some online game – trying to create a false sense of intimacy, maybe.

"Em! Gosh, it's so good to see your face. How are you?"

"Fine, fine." She quickly looks around her as if afraid of someone eavesdropping, the crowded place making her anxious, but even Mary Margaret focuses hard on her own screen to give them some alone time – not like Emma has any other option anyway, phone calls have stopped being enough weeks ago and, gosh, she's so bad at that long-distance mess. "Studying for finales is exhausting. Can't remember the last time I had a good night of sleep."

Neal's laugh is rich and loud in her headphone, having her smile despite her sleepy state. "Maybe you should switch to coffee. Hot chocolate won't get you anywhere."

"_Never_," she hisses, having him laugh once again as she shakes his head at her stubbornness.

("I changed my mind about coffee two months later when I decided to write a ten-page essay the day before it was due. There's a lesson there, kiddo."

Henry only laughs at her, oblivious to the struggles he'll definitely have to face too in a few years.)

"Oh by the way," Neal adds. "I bought my plane ticket this morning."

"Nice! Text me with all the info, I'll come pick you at the airport."

She's anxious at the mere idea – two weeks in some cheap hotel, for the campus closes during the holidays, alone with Neal, not spending Christmas with her parents for the first time in her life – but it is as scary at it is exciting – romantic, even, and she can't wait for New Year's Eve on Time Square. And she tells him so, excitingly, talking of all the things they'll do and all the places she'll show him – she knows the city like the back of her hand now, or so she thinks, and she can't wait to share it with him.

The hour passes back fast as they talk of one thing or another – what they're studying, the parties they attend, the friends they made – and she finally has to log off, if only because she can't afford another hour in this too expensive cybercafé, but her heart flutters at that little time spent with her boyfriend.

"I'm heading back to the dorm. Will you be okay alone?" she asks Mary Margaret as the brunette type furiously – gosh, how can someone be _that_ fast?

"David is supposed to arrive in a couple of minutes," she answers, barely looking away from her screen. "Don't worry, I'll be fine."

Emma nods as she slips on her coat, even if a little wary of leaving her friend alone for a couple of minutes – New York's sense of ever present insecurity creeping into her mind after all. But Mary Margaret, always the chipper optimist one, stops typing to squeeze Emma's wrist in a comforting manner that has her smile. She lingers as long as possible, taking her sweet time to pack her things, and heaves a sigh of relief when David finally enters the place.

"Okay, I'll see you around then," she tells them both, and wonders when she started caring so much about them all.

…

It's raining – it is always raining in this city, and one would think Emma had learnt the lesson by now and bought a damn umbrella, but no. She holds her leather jacket above her head as she runs down the street to the little shop around the corner, slaloming between the bystanders and soaking the bottom of her jeans while she's at it. The warmth of the shop takes her breath away as she runs inside, taking a few second by the door to jump up and down and get rid of the drops of rain on her shoulders and hair.

"Pack of Reds?" the seller asks with a laugh in his voice, and Emma doesn't want to think about how much she came here to become a regular. She wasn't even sure you could be a regular in New York freaking City. She tries not to sigh as she takes the pack and fishes in her back pocket for a couple of bank notes.

"_Muuuuuuum_."

The moment she meets Henry's eyes, wide and almost watery, she knows she suddenly just failed at parenting and should have shut up. She can read it all in those big doe eyes, the surprise and the disappointment – he doesn't mind her kissing a stranger when she's already in a relationship, but talk about smoking and here it is. The irony isn't lost on her.

"You smoked?"

She hears the rightful accusation under the concern in his voice, and pinches her nose with yet another sigh. That's exactly why she thought telling him the story was a bad idea in the first place, because he's still young enough to see her as some kind of super-hero and the last thing she wants is to fall in her son's esteem, not to live up to his expectations. Emma wants to be his role model for a little while longer, but this story will most likely take that away from her – from both of them.

"People do stupid thing when they're teenagers, sweetheart. It was a long time ago."

Thankfully he doesn't seem too eager to ask for more details, because Emma doesn't want to tell she only stopped when she was pregnant, the same way she only stopped getting drunk with Ruby every Friday night because of the little bean growing inside her. But Henry only pouts, and Emma knows she just lost a bunch of brownie points.

"Keep going," he says, and it takes her a few seconds to remember where she left off her story – taking the pack of cigarettes and paying and…

The little bell rings behind her, quickly followed by a "Bloody hell!" she would recognize anywhere. Killian comes closer to the counter, and to her incidentally, and shakes his head, droplets of rain falling on her face and having her huff and roll her eyes.

"Oh sorry, swan, I didn't notice you here," he says with a grin and a wink, before turning back to the seller. "Pack of blue American Eagles, please."

"Five eighty-four."

"Five eight– you pay _six bucks_ for a pack of cigarettes?"

She gapes at him, eyes slightly wider - the only way she can afford her cigarettes while still being able to eat is by having men offering her drinks during parties, so how the hell does he manage to pay _six dollars_ for a single pack? He's never struck her as some daddy's boy, but maybe she was wrong, maybe he's actually loaded after all.

"They put less chemicals in it," is the explanation he gives, shaking the pack right above her nose as he pockets the few cents the seller gives him.

"Oh so they're non-carcinogenic cigarettes?" she replies in a heartbeat, all folded arms and offensive stance – he always brings out that challenging part of her, leading to spicy discussions and nasty arguments. It's a wonder how they're even friends in the first place, with how mean they can be at times, but he makes her laugh as much as he infuriates her, and not many people equal her wits.

So he only rolls her eyes and pokes her nose, with that 'isn't she cute?' look she wants to slap off his face. "Course not, it's still the same nasty stuff. But they put saltpetre in yours, which makes them burn faster, which makes you smoke more. So, in the end, it costs you more, not less."

She narrowed her eyes at him for a second or two before shifting on her feet with a slight shake of the head as the defiant part of her takes over. "Yeah, I'm not buying that for a second. What you're paying for is the pretty picture and pastel colours."

"Oh, you want to bet?"

_Son of a…_

"Twenty bucks," the competitive in her replies with a nod.

He grins like the Cheshire cat. "Easiest twenty bucks ever made."

They leave the shop under the amused gaze of the seller, only to scoot against the wall not to be drenched by the rain. He lights his cigarette before helping Emma with hers, both of them dragging on it at the same time and intensity. She lets the smoke out of her nose, watches as he blows smoke rings, and smiles at his proud grin – what a child.

"How were you exams?"

He scoffs and rolls his eyes, which in itself is enough of an answer, but still adds, "A disaster. Pretty sure I failed half of them."

He puts the cigarette to his mouth, cutting off her laugh as she does the same. Still, she can't help teasing him, cigarette between her teeth. "So not only did you chose a useless major… But you're also _bad_ at it? Dude, that's harsh."

She's hasn't stopped making fun of him from the moment he told her he was not only studying geography but also had no idea what he wants to do with such a degree – like he is planning to become some kind of modern Indiana Jones or something? He's like a walking joke to Emma and her perfectly thought out career.

"What about you?"

"Well, let's say you're Pinky and I'm the Brain." Smirk and drag. "Are you going back home for Christmas?"

"Aye. It's going to be me and my mom and," they both drag on the cigarette once more, "reruns of John Hughes movies. Crazy fun."

"It does sound nice."

"It really isn't."

She looks at him from the corner of her eyes, stupidly long hair contrasting with his clenched jaw as he stared right in front of him. Emma knows everything about tricky subjects people wants to avoid so, when he puts his cigarette to his mouth once more, she does the same and looks for something else to talk about. But she doesn't have to think for long, as she looks down at her cigarette butt with a deep, loud, sigh.

"Well, look at that," Killian says, holding his half-smoked cigarette next to hers.

"Okay, okay, all right."

She tucks her cigarette between her teeth to put both hands in her pockets, but Killian grabs her forearm with a shake of the head. "Keep your money, lass. The satisfaction of beating you is more than enough."

She glares at him but, still, twenty dollars is twenty dollars and she'll probably need those soon enough. He grins down at her when her hands leave her pockets, and all she wants is to wipe the smug look off his stupid face.

"What are you doing tonight?" he asks, oblivious to her murderous thoughts. "From what I've heard, your room is off limits."

The groan escapes her lips whether she wants it or not – she had forgotten about that small detail of Ruby and Victor banishing her from her own room to celebrate the end of the term in their own special (dirty) way. Hence why she had come for her nicotine dose in the first place, ready to lock herself in the library for the rest of the night.

Great, just great.

"Come on, swan. Let's have some fun of our own."

He wraps an arm around her shoulders, and Emma finds herself suddenly scared to ask what kind of fun he has in mind.


	5. Chapter 4

"Anyone ever told you you're a walking cliché?"

If you had told Emma only a couple of hours earlier that she would spend the night in some SoHo loft, her back to some Irish sex god's chest, dancing to Daft Punk, she would have laughed at your face. And yet here she is, Killian's hands on her hips – she is pretty sure the song doesn't call for such sensual dance moves, but she's way past caring at this point and the cheap beer in her veins doesn't help. It will most likely end in some massive hangover, which is a bad idea in itself since she's supposed to pick Neal up at the airport the following morning, but the exams are over and Killian keeps laughing in her ear and, if only for a night, she wants to enjoy herself. So she leans against his chest and relishes in the way his fingers tighten against her hips.

"Is that so?"

"Yeah." Her breath catches in her throat when he puts his chin on her shoulder, but she reasons he's only doing so to hear her and not the music blasting from the speakers – nothing else, nothing more. "You've got this whole _bad boy_ persona going on, with the accent and the guitar, but you're not fooling anyone. I know you're just a big softie inside. Probably with some tragic backstory."

"Got me all figured out, don't you?"

She tries to laugh, but his voice is too close to her ear and she can only manage a breathless little sound at the back of her throat – pathetic. "Well, not my fault you're predictable."

He twirls her around without notice, making her squeak in surprise as she lands against his chest, hands coming to grab his shoulders not to lose her balance. Emma is suddenly very award of the lack of space between them, his face only inches away from hers, his breath hot on her skin despite the overall warmth of the room. "Am I?" he whispers, low and teasing, a smirk curling up his lips.

Emma forgets to breathe, to think, blinking hard as she tries not to drown in his blue eyes – close, too close, this isn't good, this is so wrong, _he's just her friend_. Very attractive, very flirty friend, and her real actual boyfriend is arriving tomorrow and gosh what is she _doing_.

"I'm hot," she blurts out, and she hates him for the way his eyes immediately roam her body, hates herself from blushing under his knowing gaze – but he doesn't add a cheeky innuendo, simply nods.

"Come. Let's get some fresh air."

His hand finds the small of her back easily, and he pushes her to a side of the room, then to the window, nodding for her to go outside. If she thought they would only stay on the platform of the fire escape, Killian surprises her by leading her up until they reach the roof. It's not the prettiest view in the city – the building is too small and, well, she visited the Empire State Building with Ruby only weeks ago – but it is still amazing with all the Christmas lights in the streets. A smile tugs on her lips even if she has to zip up her jacket against the cold winter wind.

"Nice, huh?" he asks, handing her yet another beer that probably just appeared out of nowhere. She takes it, clinging the bottle against his before taking a sip.

"It's all right I guess," is all she replies as she hides her smirk, making him scoff.

She leans against the railing, Killian mirroring her position with his back to the street, and they spend some minutes in silence, only enjoying their drinks. With the sound of the city and Daft Punk as background noise, Emma closes her eyes and breathes, her cheeks turning back to a less embarrassing shade of pink. It is oddly peaceful, despite the buzz of the city and the muffled sound of the music she can hear from here. It is quiet and nice, the cold of the wind biting her cheeks and the beer warming her from the inside. She almost regrets turning Killian down every time he offered the gang to go out and party – always excuses of _I'm tired_ and _I really need to study_, with Ruby recalling the few memories she had the following morning around a huge cup of coffee. Emma is all about making the best of your college years, but she's also all about not failing her exams, and sometimes, just like tonight, she wonders if she really had to choose one over the other. Maybe they can go hand in hand after all – she should try it.

"So _Neal_ is coming over tomorrow, huh?"

Killian suddenly breaks the silence and, when she looks at him, he's looking in front of him, tongue pressed against the inside of his cheek in what can only described as annoyance. Gosh, is he jealous or something? Come to think about it, she's never seen him with a girlfriend before, only girls he sneaks in and out of his dorm when Victor is not here.

"It's amazing how you do that." He finally glances at her, eyebrow raised in a silent question. "How much bitterness and sarcasm you can pour in a single name. Impressive, really."

"I don't do that! I told you, I just don't believe in that relationship bullshit." His offended tone falls flat with his smirk and roll of the eyes, though. "Is he, like, your high school sweetheart?"

"_You're doing it again!_"

But he's obviously grinning at her now, sipping his beer with a wriggle of the eyebrows, and she can't help but punch him in the shoulder. He laughs good-heartedly, nudging her back, before settling back in a comfortable silence he only breaks by humming some Backstreet Boys song. She grins at him for a second or two before focusing again on the city landscape in front of her, sipping from her beer once in a while.

The Backstreet Boys turn into Britney Spears – gosh the party is nice but the DJ has no sense of consistency whatsoever – but they stay silent. Until Emma bursts out, "I think he's going to propose."

Killian chokes on his beer. Turns his head to look at her. Widens his eyes.

"He can't possibly ask me to move in with him. But the other day he said he needed to tell me something, but he couldn't do it over the phone. So he's going to propose, right?"

His Adam's apple bobs, twice, slowly, before he reaches for his beer once more – obviously avoiding the subject, and she can't really blame him. Not when her breathes are short and her chest heavy, as if on the verge of a panic attack. He glances at her once more then wordlessly starts rubbing her upper arm, and it is strangely soothing.

"Have you worked on your surprised face?"

The question is so unexpected than she can only laugh and shake her head before she looks at him with an "Excuse me?" He laughs too.

"You know, when you're little and you find your Christmas presents before the day and you have to act like you're all surprised that you got exactly what you wanted. And everyone pretend not to notice your bad acting, because it's Christmas." He points a finger at her when she laughs once more – the guy has crazy thoughts, seriously. "Yes, you know exactly what I'm talking about. Now, you know he's going to propose, so you need to practice your fake surprised face. To look genuine when he asks."

"Why am I even friends with you?" she asks, but she has to agree he has a point – she doesn't do well under pressure and, even if she can recognize a lie easily, she's never been a good liar herself. Perhaps some training is in order. And, as if hearing her thoughts, Killian pushes himself off the railing to face her, a wicked smirk on his lips – she catches up on his idea in less than a second.

"No. No way."

"Come on, swan. It'll be fun!"

She immediately wants to deny it – where is the fun in being fake-proposed by someone who is _not_ your boyfriend, half-drunk, in the middle of a party – but he doesn't give her the chance as he's already taking off the heavy silver ring he wears on his thumb. One more smirk before he gets to his knee in front of her, and she can already see the few other people on the roof turning to look at them, her cheeks growing red at the mere idea of having an audience.

Oh gosh, this is such a bad idea on so many levels. And yet she can't stop grinning – probably the alcohol.

"Emma… Would you marry me?"

The grin drops in a second with a heavy sigh. "No."

Killian jumps back on his feet. "What do you mean 'no'? I thought you wanted this?"

"This is the worst fake-proposal ever! I haven't seen you in weeks, I'm only eighteen and I'm unsure about this whole thing, so the least you could do is convince me that this is the right thing to do!"

His eyes wide even so slightly, and Emma knows immediately she's said too much in the heat of the moment – Killian may be her friend but they're not that close, and the last thing she wants is for an almost stranger to know about her commitment issues. Still, whatever he is thinking, clouding his eyes, soon disappears, his trademark grin back in place. "Aw, honey, it's our first fake domestic quarrel."

She punches him in the shoulder.

"Okay, okay," he laughs, holding his hands up in surrender, before rolling his shoulders and looking down with a sigh. When he stares back at her, it's with a softness in his eyes she didn't know he could muster, and he comes closer to hold her hand. "Emma Swan –"

"Nolan."

"Emma Nolan, you are the most infuriating woman I've ever met. You're stubborn and annoying and you disagree with everything I say… But you're beautiful, and clever, and witty, and I'm yet to understand how you deemed me fitting of spending time with you… But I cherish every second by you side, and I hope you'll never grow tired of me because I want to spend the rest of my life with you. So Emma, love, would you do me the honour of becoming my wife?"

Her small gasp floats between them for a few seconds before a car honking brings her back to reality, music and city life and everything. She blinks, her eyes travelling between his, deep and blue and soft, and the ring gleaming in the dim light. The expression on his face is all too genuine, throwing her off for a second or two before she forces herself to brush it off – he's a good actor, is all, this is all just an act. But, still, his words keep replaying in her mind, whether she likes it or not, and Emma finds herself dumbstruck for longer than necessary.

She coughs and shrugs, scratching her throat in what she hopes to appear as nonchalance. "Definitely… maybe… I don't know, that's a shitty ring."

Killian finally looks down at the ring and shrugs too with a small, "Yeah, probably," before slipping it back on his thumb. She doesn't fail to notice how weak his voice sounds, missing its usual bravado and smugness – still, she tries not to focus on it, and is happy, almost relieved, when he offers to go back to their dorms.

…

She can't shrug the disgusted look off her face, and Killian snickers every time he looks at her. Not only are Ruby and Victor not done with their business yet – seriously, it's been hours, what _even_ – but they even went as far as putting a freaking sock on the handle. Like you can't lock the door from the inside. Like they're living in some teen romantic comedy or something. It's past midnight and she's banished from her own room because her friends will not see each other for a grand total of two weeks – she hates them with a burning passion.

Hence the face and Killian laughing at her as he rummages his own room, looking for something to eat and soak up the alcohol, as he swears some cookies are hidden there somewhere. It gives her the liberty to scan the room – strangely clean for two guys, with a television and an old Nintendo 64 in a corner, Killian's guitar in another. Emma doesn't even try to tone down her curiosity as she comes closer to his desk, looking at the many maps and geography books scattered there. Her eyes wander up to the little bookshelf and she frowns at the same titles over and over again, in different editions and sizes, some soft covers and some leather bound ones – there are at least thirty different versions of the same book.

"Hey. Why do you have so many copies of _The Old Man and the Sea_?"

Killian has a little victory laugh from under his bed, before he throws the box of cookie on it and sits straighter, arms folded on his mattress as he stares at her. "That, love, is a really long story."

"Really?" she asks, taking one of the books and going through it. "I read it in high school, it's only a hundred pages."

His laugh is almost bitter as he stands up and bits in a cookie, offering her one. "My brother gave it to me for my thirteen birthday, wrote that beautiful message inside. Which I couldn't care less about at that time because all I wanted was a Playstation. Turns out it's the last gift he ever gave me."

"How so?"

His eyes are full of sadness now, not meeting hers, and Emma wonders if she's too curious for it seems like a delicate subject to bring up. But Killian simply shakes his head with an even saddest smile. "He turned eighteen that year and enrolled in the Irish Naval Service. Mission gone wrong, he never came back… Mum sunk into depression soon after, and my father couldn't take it so he just left. We had to move to a smaller flat and the _Old Man_ got lost along the way." He sniffs but his smile turns softer as she squeezes his forearm. "So now I can't help but check every time I pass by a second-hand store. I know there's a chance in a million that I'll find the book again but, I don't know, it's become a habit. Hobby. Obsession…"

"It's sweet," she replies softly before taking another bite of her cookie. She motions to the books. "What are those, though?"

"Oh. There are all the books I found with an inscription in it. Look." He takes the book from her, opens it on the very first page to read, "'May Hemingway's words inspire you more than his drinking habit while you're in college. Love always, Dad.' I love this one."

It doesn't take them long after that to settle on his bed, Killian sitting with his back to the wall while she uses his lap as a cushion, both of them too tired to notice how he never stops playing with a strand of her hair. Their eyelids are heavy and their conversation easy, cut off by the occasional lazy laugh, and Emma wonders if she'll end up spending the night here – looks like Victor won't be coming back until morning anyway.

"No, seriously. Why geography?"

She snickers at his groan and how he rubs a hand against his face in desperation. "I have no bloody idea. I didn't know what to do and I've always loved the sea and travelling so… yeah."

Her laugh grows stronger and she would roll her eyes if she weren't too tired for that. "Couldn't you pick something useful? Like biology or international relationships or something?"

"I don't know… I only want to travel, see the world."

"Why don't you take a gap year then? Take some time to travel around, to _find yourself_. Maybe it'll help, maybe you'll know what to do with your studies when you come back."

"Look at you, swan. Planning my future in great details like you did yours."

She looks up at him with a frown – she hadn't even realised she'd close them at some point. "Are you judging me for knowing what I want to do with my life?"

"No, of course not." His tone is soft and reassuring, but it doesn't stop her from siting up, defensive all of a sudden. "Being a cop and defending the city, it's great. You're the next Oliver Queen. But tell me, who's going to take care of you when you're too busy saving the world?"

The question startles her in its accuracy – especially with the minor freak-out she had earlier when speaking of Neal and their potential engagement – and she glares at Killian for a second or two, almost angrily, before frowning. "Got me all figured out, don't you?" She only meant to make fun of him, poorly imitating his voice, to take control of the situation, but it comes out breathless, flirting.

Killian doesn't miss a beat. "You're an open book to me."

She can't ignore the tension between them, the tension that has been between them since the moment she decided grinding against her handsome friend could be a good idea. He licks his upper lip, eyes falling to hers, and Emma can only mirror him. He closes the distance between them, slowly, tentatively, his breath dancing against her lips. They stay still for a couple of seconds until the metaphorical rubber band snaps and then he's all over her, hot kisses and warm touch, hands roaming her body, tongue exploring her mouth. She moans when his thumb brushed the side of her breath, fingers finding his hair and tugging slightly. It's hot and passionate and hurried, and gosh she hasn't been kissed in _weeks_ and she missed that, missed the intimacy of such a moment. Especially with the way he nibbles her bottom lip and groans against her mouth, how thorough he is in his ministrations, quickly learning what she likes best – the right angle, the right pressure, and that thing he does with his teeth should probably be illegal.

It's only when she moves to straddle him that Emma snaps back to reality, eyes wide as she stares at him, all ruffled hair and swollen lips – a sight to behold. Killian stares back, and what she reads in his eyes, soft and caring and – and _loving_, is like a cold shower, all the alarms setting off in her head. She jumps to her feet, runs to the door – she needs air, she need privacy. Needs Killian not to be sharing her space.

"Emma…"

"No! No… Stay here. Don't follow me."

As she closes the door and finds herself alone in the hallway, his whispered "as you wish" lingers in the air.


End file.
